


Poetic. Pathetic.

by amclove



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: I LOVE DOMESTICITY, and roger really likes writing while it rains, mark really likes coffee, take this how you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amclove/pseuds/amclove
Summary: Roger likes to write and stare out at the rainy city. Mark likes to sit with him and drink coffee. Who cares if it's three in the morning?





	Poetic. Pathetic.

     Mark wakes up at three a.m. Not by choice, but because the sheets of rain tumbling from the clouds outside won’t stop propelling themselves against his bedroom windows. He’s woken twice before this and managed to lull himself back to a restless sleep, but this time he knows he’s screwed. With a frustrated (mostly defeated) sigh, he shoves the blankets from his legs and gets to his feet. He’s grateful that he’d gone to bed with socks on; his feet would right now be turning a darker shade of blue otherwise.

     Mark creeps out of his room, fingers rubbing at his sleepy eyes, and is turning left for the bathroom when he spots his room-mate sat on the seat of the industrial window. He’s staring out at the city with an intent focus, a notepad on his thighs.

     “Coffee?” Mark suggests. Roger looks his way, startled. “Probably not the _best_ idea, but.”

     “You’re addicted to coffee,” Roger says with a small grin, so small it wouldn’t be noticed by someone who didn’t know him well.

     “And you’re addicted to staying up ’til all hours writing your heart out,” Mark rejoins, no venom in the words. “It’s endearing, but even you, the Rockstar, must require sleep.”

     “Every time I lay down I get new ideas,” Roger replies simply. Mark pulls the two mugs from the shelf, the only ones they have: Mark’s is brown and almost resembles the texture of an old parchment. When he mentioned this to Roger as being poetic, Roger assured him that it wasn’t so much poetic as it was _pathetic_. His is dark sapphire, stolen from Life Café way back when. Mark had actually forked over a couple bucks for his tea; he figured they could go without one mug. Now, it was Roger’s favorite.

     “I’m sure you do. Have you tried to sleep at all?”

     Roger lifts his shoulders dismissively. “Who can sleep with this rain, anyway.” He’s got on his sweatshirt, his preferred item of clothing, and for some reason the sight always reminds Mark of a photo he had seen once of Roger as a teenager. His hair had been longer then, and he’d been wearing a brown-ish sweater that sort of resembled the sweatshirt’s color. He still had the exact same big, heart-melting smile. Mark just figured himself to be a sap. Roger would agree, and it had sort of become an inside-joke between them now.

     “Any breakthroughs tonight?” Mark asks him as he pours the coffee.

     “Maybe. Too soon to tell.” Mark understands this. If something isn’t the sound he’s been hearing in his head, Roger will scrap the entire idea to begin again. He’s totally O.C.D. about his music, but Mark can get like that with his short film projects, so he can’t judge all that much. “Mostly just writing random thoughts.” He accepts his mug from Mark and Mark settles into the chair he’d dragged over from the table.

     “Ever the tortured artist,” he teases.

     “Ever the blind film-maker,” Roger quips. “What about you, Spike Lee? Got any show-stopping ideas as of late?”

     Mark snorts a little, warming his hands around the mug. “As if. Real life is too much like fiction to make it into a decent film. No way to make it palatable to the general American public.”

     “Since when did you give a shit about the ‘general public’?” Roger questions. Mark shrugs. “You’re talented, man, believe it. You just need to find that one thing, you know, and it’ll be obvious what needs to be said when you do.”

     “Poetic.”

     “ _Pathetic_ ,” Roger answers predictably. “But true.”

     They sit in silence for a few minutes, never having needed a lot of conversation to fill space between them. They listen to the rain until, around four, it begins to lessen.

     “You hear that?” Mark asks, breaking the quiet. Roger looks his way. “That’s the sound of me getting back to bed.”

     “Wuss,” Roger says, grinning.

     Mark huffs a laugh, setting the mug onto the table. “I enjoy a healthy sleep pattern, yes. You should try it, Rog’.”

     “Maybe one day.” Mark shakes his head and heads off to his room. For a second, Roger watches him go. He looks back down at his notepad where he’d scrawled ramblings that he almost hadn’t realised he’d written until they were there.

_One song = glory. One last song. Before I … **?**_

_For someone so cool **,** I **’** m a fool. He **’** s a fool. I **’** m_

_Who knows. Here goes_

_Tension_

_Real life is the book you can **’** t close_

_Face my fears_

_Bisexuals homosexuals homosapiens! carcinogens hallucinogens_

_I should tell you **—** I forget how_

_Rediscover the spark **—** leave a mark_

_**MARK** _

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own RENT. Full disclosure: I do ship Mark and Roger, so take what you want from this little fic. There are SO MANY references to the show in here, including even deleted songs and what not, and I don't own any of them. Thanks!


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